The clothes Laren wore seemed clumsy. They were relaxed enough to offer a healthy amount of movement but the cloak, the pants over his pants, and the shirt over his shirt made him feel like he was wearing blankets. Gurden could see it on his face.

“Dunna ye be thinking that ye can be goin’ without this extra fluff. By the time I be done with ye, you’ll be a spitting image of Oddy...smell o’ him too.” Gibble had informed Laren that a clothing shop down near the docks, Hefters Finery, owned by Gurden Hammerhill-a tailoring loving dwarf-was the place to go. While Gurden wasn’t in the “family” he could be trusted to not ask questions and not answer them either- The Hawk Ring made sure of that.

Gurden, like many of his dwarven race, was a thick and sturdy fellow. His black beard, while not unkempt, seemed a bit wild as was the horseshoe of hair that stretched from ear to ear. He wore simple functional clothes and a tailors’ measure around his neck. At least three of his fingers had thimbles on them and Laren could swear at times he saw four and sometimes even five. Gurden was a tailor for laborers, fishermen, and laymen and he dressed the part.

Laren noted that the disguise clothes he was wearing over his own weren’t new by any stretch. They had rips, patches, and stains of food and mud that created a rainbow of crusty filth. The smell of the clothes, while not completely overpowering, stunk of rotten fish that had been left to bake in the sun. If, in fact, anyone that wished him harm could recognize Laren through the disguise they might have difficulty getting past the stench fog that was surrounding him.

“I have to admit…this be some o’ me good work!” Gurden said with a wide smile and a juicy sneeze.

OOC: I was a little confused by: "Laren noted that the clothes he was wearing weren’t new by any stretch." I thought you were talking about Gurden's clothes.

Laren was no novice to disguise, but it'd be a very long time since he had to do it. He used to do it frequently, just to keep in practice and prank friends; back when life was simpler. Lately though, survival required more of Laren's other skills. He'd been relying on his fighting prowess and reflexes so much these past months, he was nervous being so encumbered. If the disguise failed, he'd have to fight, and these were not fighting clothes.

Still though, as uncomfortable as it was to wear the disguise it was much more comfortable than walking around in his own skin where someone might recognize him.

Of course they'd recognize you, he thought to himself wryly. Who could forget a handsome devil like you?!

He threw a sly wink to his reflection in the large mirror, grinning silently to himself. It was a relief to be in a different frame of mind. Already he felt invisible, and was looking excitedly forward to shuffling around the side streets without fearing the unseen.

"Your work is masterful," he said. "You've got Oscar pegged, right down to the smell of fish." The smell of invisibility, I hope. he thought.

Then a thought crossed his mind that he wished he'd thought of sooner... Gee, I hope I don't run into Oscar!

“Thank ye laddie. It’s not so easy to be mimicin’ some folks…especially if they be known. Yeah, and Oddball Oscar…he’s a known fella ‘round here always beggin’ fer a fish with his tricky speak.” Gurden stated as he crafted the finishing stitches. “I ain’t be seein’ much o’ him though…not lately at least. So yer probably safe in yer dupin’ so long as ye dunna cross the threshold if ye take me figgerin’.”

Gurden seemed genuinely concerned as he presented his advice to Laren. He didn’t know many of the names of people in the Order of the Hawk but he knew them to be of honorable intent- even if their actions appeared to be otherwise. To Gurden, Laren seemed too young to know what evils may be found on the streets of Kurr. He reasoned that was what probably made Laren all the more dangerous to anyone that might single the halfling as an enemy. Members of the Order were not to be taken lightly when it came to their work.

“I dunna know yer dealin’s or yer intents…and I ain’t askin’ ye neither ye see. Just ye be mindful out there in what ye do. Seems obvious to many that advice does I know. An’ I feel like a damned fool for sayin’ it to ye too!” Gurden said with a chuckle. “All too often I be hearin’ o’ folks…good folks…make the mistake o’ thinkin’ with their anger or their bravado or worse yet, their be stinkin’ pride. They dunna usually meet good ends when that happens.”

Gurden found himself standing in front of Laren with a wagging, thimbled finger lecturing him as he would a child. Realizing his patronizing mannerisms he cocked his head and stepped back. “Pardon me for that. It ain’t me place to say such things to folks I dunna know nor do they know me.”

The aging dwarf righted himself, tugged on the tailors measure around his neck, and declared, “If the fishmongers canna’ make o’ the difference than not a one will methinks. I think ye be ready laddie!”

Laren looked himself over in the polished metal mirror. He was indeed an image of Oscar. "If this doesn't work, I don't know what will," Laren said more to himself than to Gurden.

He bowed graciously, and stepped down off of the small box he'd been standing on. The movement stirred the air, and Laren got the full brunt of "Double-O's" stench. His heart went out to that fellow and anyone downwind.

One step completed. I can only hope I get what I need today, so I can get out of this disguise! he thought to himself.

As the shop's door swung closed behind him, Laren realized he really didn't have much of a plan in mind. He had realized that a disguise would be a good idea, and just rushed off to get one before really thinking about what he'd do next.

It was late morning, and the streets were busy. Laren was already drawing side-long glances, followed by quickened paces from the passersby. As his cheeks gave way to a small victorious grin, he remembered who he was now. The grin stretched into the semi-intoxicated semi-demented grin only "Double-o" (and Laren) could grin!

As he stepped down off the small door step, he intentionally turned an ankle and came crashing down. He threw out an arm to stop himself, and it went splashing down in the horse trough. He stood back up jerkily, and dusted himself off.

"Oh blast," he said loudly. "I've gone and got a clean spot on me sleeve! That shall ruin my ambiance!" He laughed Oscar's wheezing laugh as the small crowd that was watching shook their heads, some in disgust.

Only one place to go, he thought, pointing his shambling course to the Half Pint. If he could fool Ol Gibble, he could fool anyone. Acting drunk is a lot easier when drunk too.

"I'd love a gold piece," He shouted to no one in particular. "But if you don't have one, a platinum will do just fine!"

If nothing else came of this day, Laren was at least going to have a good time.

The streets of Kurr were bustling this day. Laborers toiled on replacing broken and missing cobbles, barrel filled wagons bumped by with a constant racket, and street peddlers shouted out the deals they had for passer-byes. The trades section of Kurr was always busy and always moving.

Laren got random looks of sympathy and some of disdain but mostly people just ignored him-or didn’t notice him-as they would any “street-lifer”. The folks in this part of town were hard workers with calloused hands and seemed to not have time to pay to someone that did not significantly impact their life as there was work and business to be done! As Laren ambled his way down the street, now soaked and just as smelly, he passed by a four troop of guards with worn armor. “Yeesh, I haven’t seen Oddy around for a while…wonder where he’s been?” remarked one of the guards. “Honestly private, does it matter?” answered the troop sergeant. The others laughed at the comment except the curious guard. From the corner of his eye Laren could see the questioning guard look back in sympathy and “accidentally” drop a *griffon.

*the name of a silver piece in the Tri-State of Vychia (Kurr being one of the three states)commonly called a “grif”.

Laren felt a pang of guilt that he hadn't expected. Somehow, the thought that playing the part of a beggar would earn him coin from the people who were fooled by the disguise, had never crossed his little mind. Should he go over and pick up the coin for which he had no need? Surely that kind-hearted guard could use it more than Laren could have.

Sighing, Laren decided that he'd chosen to play the part, and he couldn't break character yet. He shambled over to the coin and picked it up. He decided not to put it in his own pouch that he had buried under the layers of rank clothing, but in a separate pocket instead. Perhaps he could find a poor soul who needed it more than he did. He hoped he'd run into that guard at some point, somewhere that he could return the favor.

It was not long before his wandering brought him back to The Half Pint. Laren had seen Oscar dine here from time to time, and always felt a great swell of pity for the man, as he sat alone in the corner, surrounded by empty chairs. He now felt a swell of guilt realizing those people were now feeling pity for him, when none was really warranted.

Nothing to do for it now, he'd have to figure out how to pay it all forward sometime down the line. He busied his mind trying to figure out how he was expected to eat anything, smelling like he did.

Taking a deep breath and getting back into character, he stepped up to the door, and pushed it open.

The door swung in to reveal a fuller bar than had been here earlier. It was filled with the faces of the shorter folk- dwarves, gnomes, and, of course, Halflings- most of whom were tradesmen or crafters of some sort. In the air hung the familiar smoke of inexpensive pipe weed and the smell of tapped kegs. Many tables and “hob-nob posts” as they were called were filled with raucous laughter and din of loud conversation.

Laren could see through the numerous heads that Gibble was furiously working the bar along with two other of his and Larens kin. Several bar-maids, Winnie among them, were constantly moving delivering drinks, picking up empty plates and delivering full ones.

This was a familiar scene that Laren witnessed countless times before- but never in disguise.

As Laren moved into the bar those he came near sniffed the air sensing something out of place- and foul. Realizing where the aroma was coming from they would turn his way. Some would sneer, others would wince, and others would remark with astonishment that Oddy was indeed still around. None made any faces of recognition that Laren was anything beyond who he pretended to be.

Laren caught the slight gesture that Gibble made towards Winnie and with the grace of a dancer dodged between the numerous patrons and approached Laren.

“Oddy! We’ve not seen you around here for a spell. Come on over here and set at this table away from the ruckus. We can’t be having you stink everyone out now can we? I’ll have Burldak fix you something right quick.”

Yes, Laren knows Burldak. Burldak is the cousin to Copper, the halfling bartender that was left dead at the door some weeks ago (this was mentioned in a previous post...the name of which i can't recall right now)

Winnie went off to get the disguised Halfling some food and a drink. Even to Laren’s trained eyes she seemed to melt into the crowd without a trace. He wasn’t able to see even her head bobbing or a flash of her clothes as she moved through the patrons and to the bar. He wasn’t sure if she did this purposely or if it was merely her skill at crowd dodging. If she could do that even as he watched her then she had some skills that could make Laren glad she was part of the Hawk family.

Most of the patrons currently in the bar were here for their mid-day mead and ale along with plate of food. The mead and ale was, by far, more popular among the regular folks.

Laren did notice amidst the chaos of the tavern that some sitting at a table on the mezzanine were as sober as stones and not making much conversation at all. It seemed as though they were watching the bars activities; even scanning the crowd. Laren could see that they were doing their best to not be noticed. Perhaps more suspicious than the groups mannerisms was that they were all young adult humans. While by no means unseen in the Half-Pint, humans, save a select known few, were not casual customers. Laren noted that this group of four, by trying to blend in and not appear suspicious, made themselves more so. Additionally, their race alone betrayed any sort of secrecy they obviously tried to harness.

Laren slowly rocked and swayed in his chair the way Oscar did, mumbling softly about the rolling waves beneath the hull of his fishing boat.

Beneath his facade of incoherent memories of lost times, Laren's mental gears cranked excitedly. Judging by the relative youth of the lads, they were likely Duskshrouds; a small time gang of opportune riff-raff always looking to gain the respect and credibility of the other establishments of Kurr.

If that were the case though, Laren didn't believe they were there looking for him. Surely they were up to no good, but no one who knew the importance of the Eye would trust a Duskshroud to the task. Then again, it was possible that Crimson really had no idea of the Eye's importance to begin with. Laren filed the thought away for consideration in the evening.

Winnie returned with a bowl of oatmeal and a mug of steaming coffee. Laren breathed a sigh of disappointment even as he thanked her noisily. He'd forgotten Oscar's customary morning meal. How Laren hated oatmeal. He grew unreasonably sick of it while traveling, but it's convenience while on the road was undeniable.

"My thanks, mistress o' the pint!" Laren said loudly, tossing a wink to Winnie, a hand on her arm. "And uh," he added quietly, gently tugging her closer. "My apologies for the stench... I'd like to send a round of Hawkberry brandy to our shrouded friends in the loft. Put it on my tab, but tell them it's on the house?"

Laren wondered if in her chaotic duties, she'd spied the lads for what they were. No doubt she had.

The Hawkberry brandy was the calling card for the Brotherhood of the Hawk. This gesture was known in Kurr as the "Showing of the hand" a analogy not only in reference to gambling, but to the ring on the fingers of the brothers.

It was a warning to outsiders. It said they were welcome to stay as long as they kept the Hawk's peace. Laren liked to think of it as explaining the house rules, and affording the players an opportunity to leave before the deal.

In due time, Laren spied Winnie traipsing up the stairs. Rushing down those stairs were three Halflings that nearly knocked Winnie over the stair railing. “Don’t be knocking me over because you’re late for work you three winebellies!” she howled. As the last Halfling was passing her he caught his step on Winnie’s strategically placed foot rolling him and the others down the rest of the way. The bar erupted into thunderous laughter and the three dazed and “half-drunken-lings” (a name used in the bar for the Halflings that got too much of their fill) stumbled to their feet and nearly fell out of the door to the Half-Pint.

Winnie took a bow to the cheering crowd and waved as a queen would in a royal procession all the while proclaiming her thanks to the onlookers. Laren could barely hear Gibble at the bar, “Don’t mess with Miss Winnie, you’ll get her boot!”

The tavern folks went back to their chatter and laughter which all blended into a constant din of noise. This made it impossible for Laren to hear anything of what was being said even a few feet from where he was sitting.

Winnie approached the table with the four young adults. Laren could see her speaking with them as they were quite surprised by the anonymous “gift”. During the conversation one of the four blatantly scanned the noisy tavern. Laren could surmise that he must be looking for the drink donor. Winnie shook her head and turned slightly so that Laren could see her mouth the words, “no, no…it’s on the house” and follow them with a wink and a smile the way only Winnie could. Satisfied that the intention had been completed, she walked to the next table to tend a pack of ale guzzling dwarves.

Satisfied that the goons got the message, Laren was curious what they'd do. He considered following them when they left, but there'd be no way to do that without being seen.

He had no real reason to wish them ill will, but Laren was tired of having to run and hide, that he was inclined to put a stop to anyone up to no good. He'd have liked nothing more than to follow them home, and ring their necks. Give em all a case of Laren-gitis.

... he chucked to himself at his new word. He'd have to remember that one.